


White Winter Hymnal

by aameyalli



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aameyalli/pseuds/aameyalli
Summary: Bangar’s charr move deeper into the mountains. Some have second thoughts.Major spoilers for LWS5 prologue "Bound by Blood," written for tyrias-library event prompt: snow.
Kudos: 4





	White Winter Hymnal

**Author's Note:**

> blood & unnamed character death cw. thanks to @tyrias-library on tumblr for inspiring me again!

_I was following the pack **  
**_

_All swallowed in their coats_

_With scarves of red tied round their throats_

_To keep their little heads from falling in the snow_

_And I turned round and there you go_

The cub fell right in front of Malachi.

Well, he _said_ cub. It wasn’t a _kitten,_ like. Old enough to be a Legion soldier, but they were all cubs to a charr as big and old as Malachi. Anyhow he was small and he’d started out of Grothmar howling with excitement and now he fell in the snow in front of Malachi, already dead from cold and exhaustion. Just pitched over stiff and bleeding from the mouth. The red was shocking against the white.

The wind ruffled the dead cub’s fur, almost like breath. His pelt was black and brown. Like Malachi’s son’s. It was gathering snowflakes already. The cub would be buried before long without any help from the other charr. The streak of blood around his muzzle froze solid in a second.

Malachi stood over him, hunched against the wind, his wide-brimmed hat pulled so low over his face that he could see nothing but the cub, whose eyes were open and yellow like his own. Like his son’s.

A heavy paw clapped him on the shoulder.

“Alright there, Malachi?” Bangar’s low rumble came close in his ear. “Can’t have you flagging. You’re my top lieutenant.”

Malachi looked at him from under the hat brim. The Blood Imperator was hulking, draped in layers of cloth, fur, and skins, his eyes hidden behind bottle green goggles. He looked like a machine, rolling through the snow.

The old charr was nobody’s lieutenant. He was a gunslinger from the ass end of Elona and he wasn’t here for the Legions. And definitely not for Bangar.

Malachi stepped over the dead cub and kept trudging forward, keeping pace with the Imperator. “ ‘S damn cold,” he said. “Not used to it.”

“Take this.” Bangar peeled off one of his layers and tossed it over.

The old charr slung it around his own bent shoulders. It was warm and hairy. The wind couldn’t cut it.

“What’s this made of?”

Bangar showed his teeth. “Human skin.”

“It’s dolyak,” Ryland called from behind. He sounded out of breath. ‘‘Imperator, we’ll lose more soldiers if we go on like this. We have to stop.’’

“Pick up the pace, charr!” Bangar roared. ‘‘Jormag’s been sleeping long enough!’’

Malachi shuddered and moved faster, pushing against knee-deep snow that piled higher by the second. It was heavy. The cold ached. The old charr’s joins creaked and strained.

The wind lifted his hat brim for a moment. There wasn’t much to see ahead. Just a big sweep of white, upward and upward, to a sky that was all white too. The rest of Bangar’s troops were a dotted black line snaking up the mountainside. The only color in the world was red, dribbled in the pawprints of soldiers ahead of him. Ryland was right. More would fall soon. And the weather was getting worse.

They trudged forward together. Forward and up towards the white sky. Towards Jormag. Malachi’s paws felt stuffed with sand. “We’re too old for this, Bangar.”

“Are we?” The Imperator rumbled, deep in his throat. “Maybe. It’s a young cub’s world,” he said, “if the young cared to take it. But they have blunted teeth and little claws. So the old must take it for them.”

Malachi tucked his muzzle against his chest, trying to hide his face from the wind and snow, but it kept coming, pulling and cutting through the fur of his face where Bangar’s cape didn’t cover, burning his eyes.

“Don’t you want the world for your cub, Malachi?”

Malachi’s fur prickled. He almost looked back to see if the little brown and black body was still visible, or if it had been covered by snow. Almost.

“Sure,” he said. “I’m here, ain’t I?”

“And I need you here,” said Bangar. There was a heavy roll under his words that could have been a purr or a snarl of challenge. It was hard to hear in the wind. More than anything it sounded like shifting snow. “Need you to help me clip Jormag’s wings.”

‘‘Sure,’’ Malachi grunted. He pulled the warm cape closer to his chin and checked the strap that held his rifle to his back. Still secure.

‘‘Look at me,’’ said Bangar.

Malachi looked.

‘‘For our cubs,’’ said Bangar. His goggles reflected the glare of light coming off the snow. They looked more like a tank’s headlights than a charr’s eyes.

‘‘For our cubs,’’ said Malachi. ‘‘Hell, just for the fun of it. Let’s tame us a dragon.’’

Bangar laughed from his belly, rough and loud, and slapped Malachi’s shoulder again. ‘‘I like you, Olmakhan.’’

The old charr grasped the rifle strap with both paws and slogged forward up the mountain. For his cub. He would bring Jormag to heel.


End file.
